


Petition Day

by MollieRose



Category: A Place of Greater Safety - Hilary Mantel, French Revolution RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 16:29:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3817219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MollieRose/pseuds/MollieRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A random French Revolution piece I wrote concerning the Champ de Mars massacre. Brief allusion to Danton, mainly concerns Lafayette and the crowd. Loosely based on Mantel's passage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Petition Day

Petition day, a day of celebration. A crowd of fifty thousand strong gathers at the Champ-de-Mars. Partly for political reasons, however mostly to get away from the vomit-inducing stench and infernally cramped heat of Paris. People are dressed in their Sunday-best and roar encouragement to the orators of the revolution as they cry denouncements to the runaway King. Most don’t know what it would mean to become a constitutional monarchy, let alone a republic; all they know is that bread prices are high and grain stock is low and their pithy profits go straight to the pockets of an Austrian bitch.

A man stands upon a table and waves a piece of paper in the air. “The citizens of France will settle for nothing more than the formal abdication of the Louis the Liar!” He cries.   
Years ago, these words alone would have meant the man’s death, or mysterious disappearance at the very least. He would have been condemned to the silent death of a lettre de cachet delivered in the dead of night. But now? Now there are no letters, or Bastille to imprison those they condemn, and soon perhaps there will be no King. So now the man is booed and hissed and cries of _conservative_ fill the air.

Another man stands upon a platform. He is sinfully ugly, yet has a voice that soars through the crowd and captures the hearts and minds of the people.   
“A monstrous crime was committed, Louis the sixteenth fled; he abandoned his position and his people; the realm was on the brink of anarchy. Citizens stopped him at Varennes and he was brought back to Paris. Now we hear tales of innocence and inviolability. Traitors! The will of the people is that Louis be tried like all those who seek to undermine the laws we build our nation upon! We not only demand his abdication, but also the creation of a new executive power who will uphold the glory of France!” He booms across the field.

The crowd roars in agreement, and soon the day of celebration is plunged into turmoil. Men scream for the heads of aristocrats and the blood of legislators. Women screamed for Antoinette’s head and children run around the base of pikes like may-poles in spring.   
The men of ’89 look on in horror and wonder what has become of their beautiful revolution of reform.

Soon, the horrid gleam of bayonets in sunlight flashes across the plain. People clutch each other’s hands and pull their children flush against their bodies. Screams fill the air as people are separated from their families. Some mistake, there must be some mistake.  
The blood red flag of martial law is unfurled, but what’s a flag on a day of celebration? Surely not… Surely not.

Lafayette looks upon his people and begs them to leave. To go home and to rest, to think of what they say.   
He wonders if he will be able to do it, to fire on those who adore him so. Yet they will not listen, and the crowd is quickly becoming a riot. Once more, he begs them: Go back to your homes and your families, _you know not what you ask of me._   
However the people will not have their voices taken so soon after finding them. They boo their champion and a collection of stones are flung towards his pretty, white horse and its rider. Lafayette sighs and gestures for his men to commence.

The horrors of the first volley blanket the crowd. People stumble back, lose their footing. Blood blossoms on the grass, fingers get caught under stampeding feet and the horrid symphony of screams, and cries and the splintering of bones under hoof reaches its crescendo. It is over within minutes. An example has been made.   
A member of the National Guard slides from his saddle and vomits onto the bloodstained grass.


End file.
